A small wind wets stone beach with
Breakers from the narrow lake.
Someone whoops it up on shore.
Someone takes notes in the woods.
Intention can be disguised
More easily than the lack
Of intention is hidden.
It's a disaster out there,
But we fail to address it.
We want a different collapse,
Death by everlasting feint.
A red squirrel crosses the porch.
It has no idea I think
Its life pathetically short.
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